


A Safe Place to Hide

by Knitwritezombie (Missa_G)



Series: A Safe Place to Hide [1]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Deaf Clint Barton, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Kid Clint Barton, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-30
Updated: 2014-05-30
Packaged: 2018-01-27 15:09:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1715033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missa_G/pseuds/Knitwritezombie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eight-year old Clint Barton was in his third foster placement in two years. He'd become an expert at finding out of the way places to keep himself hidden when the adults or bigger kids got mad.</p><p>Only this time, his hiding didn't really go as planned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Safe Place to Hide

**Author's Note:**

> This fic contains non-graphic references to child abuse and neglect, non-graphic descriptions of early stages panic attacks, and minor self-harm. Please consider your own mental health before diving in.
> 
>  
> 
> From [this prompt](http://avengerkink.livejournal.com/18271.html?thread=42329951#t42329951) at the live journal avengers kink meme:
> 
> Little Clint was a master hider. He was small for his age and knew how to use it to his advantage. Especially when the motivation was not being hit. He didn't like being hit, or watching others being hurt. So he would hide and close his eyes and count to ten, hoping everything would go away. 
> 
> And one day, when he was hiding in his foster mother's closet, counting silently with his eyes squeezed closed, he opened his eyes to a new world with strange people and monsters.

Eight year old Clint Barton may have been dumber than a bag of fucking rocks according to his father, but there were three things he knew to be absolutely true: adults, no matter how nice they appeared, were not to be trusted; food was something to hide and keep careful track of; and a small, tight hiding space was the first thing to find in any new place.

He was in his third foster placement since his parents had died two years earlier, having been in three different group homes in between. Each change had drilled home how important those three basic rules were to his life. In the group homes there were never enough of anything, from food to soap to adults to keep the bigger kids from bullying the littler ones. The foster homes had turned out to be the exact opposite of what Clint’s social worker had led him to believe; each new home showed him new terrors. The best one had been the middle one, where he’d been largely ignored (he’d also been hungry all the time). 

Clint wasn’t sure if it was better or worse that this time he had Barney with him. Barney was twelve and mean and angry, and most of the time it seemed that he didn’t have time to look after his little brother any more. 

Which was why, when nine-year-old Kenny had dropped a glass of orange juice (that he wasn’t supposed to have had) and Mrs. Grady had started yelling, Clint had scrambled for a hiding place. There was a clear pecking order of foster care, and as the youngest of the five boys in the house (plus the two Grady girls), he knew that Kenny would lay the blame at his feet, especially if it meant avoiding a beating. 

So, Clint was curled up as tightly as could be in the girls’ closet; they were at practice or lessons or something and wouldn’t be home for hours, and no one would think to look for him there. As the yelling downstairs got louder (though muffled; his hearing had been bad since his father had struck him so hard he’d hit his head against the floor and blacked out), Clint curled up tighter, drawing his knees to his chest and trying to make himself look as small as possible hiding behind the hanging clothes. He squeezed his eyes closed and slowly counted to one hundred in his head.

He hit forty seven when a chill ran through him and he shuddered. 

Something didn’t feel right. It felt like he was outside. He could feel a breeze on his skin and it smelled different. Slowly, Clint cracked his eyes open, then squeezed them instantly closed again. He shook his head in denial before peeking again.

He was on a rooftop. A high rooftop. Like one of those really big buildings from the big cities he’d seen on the television sometimes. He peered over the edge of the building and could see strangely dressed people fighting…were those dragons? He shivered again as the wind whipped around him, and he curled his arms around himself, stepping off the ledge. He was dressed in his worn jeans (the knees nearly needed to be patched again) and thin t-shirt, and he had no shoes, since Mrs. Grady had a no shoes in the house rule. 

“Just a dream,” he muttered, stepping back until his back pressed against the wall and he curled up again, squeezing his eyes shut. “Just a dream. I fell asleep in the closet and Mrs. Grady will beat me when she finds me and she won’t let me have supper or breakfast tomorrow, and I just have to wake up and I’ll be okay. I’ve had worse, and I’ll be okay.” He had a granola bar and an orange hidden in the bag he left in a niche in an abandoned building on the way to the public school he attended with the other boys. “Just a dream.”

“Hawkeye?” A strangely metallic voice called out. “Hawkeye?”

Clint burrowed as tightly into himself as he could, pressing his spine into the wall so hard it hurt. _wake up wake up wake up_ he chanted internally.

The sound of something heavy dropping to the floor, along with it shaking with the impact, told Clint he wasn’t alone on the roof anymore. “Just a dream. One of the girls threw her shoes in the closet. Just a dream,” he chanted, burying his nose in the space between his knees. “Just a dream. Wake up. Wake up. It’ll be worse if she catches you sleeping here. Wake up.”

“Barton?” It was the same voice, but without the metallic quality, and a note of something Clint hadn’t heard in a very long time: concern. 

Clint didn’t lift his head, but he peeked up from between his lashes. A huge red and gold robot with a man’s face stood in front of him. He yelped and started to pedal himself backwards, only to find he had nowhere to go with the wall propping him up. “Just a dream, just a dream, just a dream,” he chanted even faster, feeling his heart beat speed up and his breathing grow harsh. “Wake up, idiot,” he scolded himself, lifting his head enough to slam his fists into his forehead repeatedly. “Wake up, wake up, wake up.”

“Whoa, kid, stop!” the man/robot thing said. “Sitwell, better get up here. We’ve got a problem. Hey, kid, I’m not gonna hurt you,” the man/robot thing said.

“Wake up, wake up, wake up,” Clint kept repeating, kept hitting himself.

“Clinton Francis Barton! Stop that!” the man/robot demanded.

Shocked at the use of his full name, he did. Mrs. Grady didn’t call him that when she was mad; she called him “you fucking idiot” or “worthless kid not worth the money I get,” or sometimes she’d just bark his last name.

“Clint?” the man/robot asked. 

“Yeah?” Clint asked back softly, still not looking up.

The man/robot sighed. “I’ve got Barton, but you’re not gonna like it,” he said. Then. “Hey, Clint, can I get you to uh, uncurl a little? You’re not hurt, are you?”

Clint shook his head, answering both questions. Distantly, he heard the sound of a door creaking open.

“Agent two point oh. Good.” There was a clanking sound. “I’m gonna get back to the battle. Have fun!” There was a woosh and a hum, and then just the sound of the outside. 

It stayed quiet for a minute, and then Clint had the sense that someone was close to him. He slitted his eyes open and saw a dark shape next to him, sitting in a similar matter to Clint.

“Clint. Do you know where you are?” The man asked, his voice calm.

“Fell asleep in the closet,” Clint responded. “Need to wake up.” He jumped and skittered sideways when a hand brushed his shoulder, finally looking up.

The man was holding his hands up, palms toward Clint, clearly trying to show that he wasn’t a threat. He was dressed in a dark suit with a white shirt (with tiny blue stripes) and a tie. His black shoes were shiny and he was wearing dark socks. He was bald and had skin the color of Mrs. Grady’s morning coffee, and big glasses covered his dark eyes. He looked kind, but Clint never _ever_ forgot rule number 1. 

“I’m sorry, Clint,” he said, and he sounded like he meant it. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

Clint stared. He didn’t know the man. Why was he in Clint’s dream? “Wake up,” he muttered to himself again. 

“Clint, you’re not asleep,” the man said. “You’re in New York City, and it’s 2013. My name is Jasper, and I’m your friend.”

No. It was 1983. “No,” he said outloud. “I’m in the closet. I fell asleep. Mrs. Grady will beat me when she finds me, but I’ve had worse, and I’ll be okay. I just need to wake up.”

The man – Jasper’s eyes narrowed slightly and Clint shrank back. “I’m not angry at you, Clint,” he said, still holding his hands up. “But I promise that this isn’t a dream.” 

Clint snorted. He knew what the promises of adults were worth.

Jasper seemed like he was going to speak again, but then his attention focused elsewhere. Clint took the opportunity. 

He sprang to his feet and bolted. He made it to the door and was reaching for the handle when it opened from the other side, sending Clint reeling backwards to avoid getting hit. His feet scrabbled in the gravel and he felt it bite into his feet through the holes in his socks. He crab walked as quickly as he could away from the figure in the door way.

The man had dark curly hair and wore glasses. He looked exhausted, dressed in a black zip-up hoodie and sweatpants. As soon as he was through the door he crouched down, making himself smaller, his hands at his sides. “Clint, please stop,” he said gently. “I know you don’t trust us, and that this is very scary for you, but we’re friends. We aren’t going to hurt you,” he said, his voice calm and even. “My name is Bruce.”

Clint watched warily as the man who called himself Bruce lowered himself so that he was seated on the ground. He reached into his pockets and withdrew two boxes of chocolate milk, two apples, and something wrapped in wax paper. “Are you hungry?” Bruce asked, unwrapping the paper to reveal a sandwich cut in half. He took out half, then re-wrapped it and leaned as far forward as he could placing the other half sandwich, one apple, and one milk on the floor toward Clint. He then turned toward Jasper and started talking. “They’re nearly done, and the other guy was a bit more concerned with what Tony reported than smashing, so,” he said with a shrug. 

“I trust your judgment, Bruce,” Jasper responded.

Clint kept half a wary eye on them and the other on the food in front of him. It seemed to have been offered freely, but he felt torn between his first two guidelines. Slowly, as Bruce and Jasper chatted, Clint reached out and snatched up the food. He quickly secreted the apple away for later. He made quick work of the sandwich (peanut butter _and_ jelly) and the carton of milk, still half aware of the two men who were only pretending not to notice him.

“Acknowledged,” Jasper said, and Bruce turned back toward Clint.

“Clint, this isn’t a dream,” Bruce said calmly. “It’s okay that you’re scared. I’m not sure what’s happened to you, but I know some very smart people who can help us figure it out. But first, we need to get off this roof and go somewhere a bit quieter so you can get warmed up and we can talk. I know you can’t believe me, but I promise that neither Jasper or I will hurt you. Will you come with me, please?”

Neither of them had tried to hurt him so far. Bruce had given him food and not tried to steal it away. They seemed to respect his personal space, and after Jasper’s first attempt, hadn’t even tried to touch him. “Not a dream?” he whispered, looking up into Bruce’s dark eyes. 

Bruce nodded. “Not a dream,” he agreed.

“Okay,” Clint said softly.

“Okay,” Bruce said, smiling a little. 

Behind Bruce, Jasper stood, brushing gravel dust from his suit. Without another word he headed for the door.

“You’re not hurt, are you?” Bruce asked. “Can you stand?”

He nodded, answering the second question and he gingerly climbed to his feet. Bits of gravel bit into his feet and he kept his arms wrapped tightly around his stomach. He followed Bruce to the door way.

“We have to go down a couple flights of stairs, but then there’s an elevator,” Bruce said over his shoulder, leading Clint. “Your feet okay?”

Clint nodded. 

“Clint?”

“I’m okay,” he answered quietly. It wasn’t the first time he’d run around barefoot.

The ride in the elevator was quiet, and Bruce didn’t seem to react when Clint nestled himself into the corner furthest away from him. When the car hit the bottom, Bruce pressed and held the ‘door closed’ button and Clint began to feel himself panic.

“Shh,” Bruce said, his voice quiet and even as he pressed himself back into the wall. “I’m not going to touch you. I just wanted to warn you. There are going to be a lot of people out there. I just want to make sure you’re okay. I don’t want you to get lost in the crowd. It’s going to be scary. So, will you let me hold your hand or put my hand on your shoulder? Just until we get to the car?” Bruce’s voice remained calm and steady, and he made no movements toward Clint.

 _Never trust adults_ flashed through Clint’s mind. But he was also in a strange place and he knew no one and this man truly seemed to care about not hurting or scaring Clint. He had given Clint food, and asked rather than ordered. Once they were in this quiet place he could always find someplace to hide if Bruce turned out to be like every other adult Clint had even known. 

Slowly, he extended his hand.

“Thank you,” Bruce said sincerely, stepping away from the wall and carefully taking Clint’s hand in his own.

The door chimed before it opened, and Clint flinched back at the cacophony of sound that reached his damaged ears. Bruce squeezed his hand. “It’s okay, they’re friendly,” he advised and gently tugged on Clint’s hand to get him moving forward.

Despite the number of people milling around, most of them in suits or all black tight outfits, no one got close to them. Clint followed Bruce to a large black vehicle with a grey eagle logo on the side. Bruce opened the door, and gestured that Clint climb in. “We’re going to be a few more minutes, but it’s warmer inside,” Bruce explained. “Thanks,” he said to someone that Clint couldn’t see behind the door and dark glass. “Here,” he said, handing over a hooded sweatshirt identical to the one Bruce wore. “I’m going to wait right out here until Jasper can leave in a couple of minutes. He’s going to drive us, okay?”

Clint accepted the sweatshirt. It was clean and too big and he irrationally loved it on sight. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d gotten clothing that was new. Part of him knew he’d probably have to give it back, but he would enjoy the luxury while he had it. He nodded at Bruce as he tugged the hoodie into place, zipping himself up, liking the feel of the too-long sleeves drooping over his hands. 

The vehicle was running and the heater was on and Clint was tired; he was asleep in the span of a couple of heartbeats.

**

Clint woke with a start when the engine shut off. He glanced around, panicked, to find that he was still in the vehicle, not in the closet at the Grady’s. It was beginning to look like Jasper and Bruce were both telling the truth that this wasn’t some dream. 

“Clint?” Bruce asked.

“Yeah,” he said softly. “m okay.”

“Good. We’re here,” Bruce said, turning. “There probably won’t be as many people, but we’re going take another elevator ride. This is where we live, and I’m going to take you up to our common floor where you can be comfortable while we try to figure out what happened, okay?”

Clint nodded silently. It wasn’t like he had much choice. 

Bruce smiled encouragingly and slid out of the vehicle. Jasper didn’t move but he met Clint’s eyes in the mirror. “I have to go back,” Jasper explained. 

Clint nodded again, accepting the explanation as he slid out of his own seat to find Bruce waiting for him near a door. They were in a parking structure of some kind. It echoed weirdly and smelled a little like damp and the Grady’s garage where the van leaked oil. He followed Bruce into another elevator which rose much more smoothly than the other one.

“Good afternoon, Doctor Banner,” a voice said in a soft accent Clint wasn’t familiar with. 

Clint jumped and looked around, but there was no one else there. 

“Hello, JARVIS,” Bruce answered, smiling softly as he lightly settled a hand on Clint’s shoulder.

Clint didn’t jump this time. “Who is Jarvis?” he asked softly.

“I am,” the voice responded.

Clint’s eyes continued to dart around the elevator.

“JARVIS is an artificial intelligence that helps to run this building,” Bruce explained, his voice steady. “He’s like a computer.”

“What’s a computer?” Clint asked, frowning.

“Oh. Uhm. It’s a machine that does a lot of calculations at one time. Like a really big sophisticated calculator.”

“Oh,” Clint answered, nodding as he accepted that explanation. “He called you doctor.”

Bruce nodded. “I’m not a medical doctor, though, not really. I’m a scientist.”

“Oh,” Clint said again, mind whirling. These people were his _friends_? 

Bruce gave his shoulder a squeeze. “I know this is a lot. We’ll try to explain more as we go along, okay? For now, let’s just get someplace comfortable. I bet you’re still hungry?”

“Okay. And yeah, a little,” Clint admitted. He spent so much time hungry it was hard to tell, sometimes.

The elevator chimed softly as the doors opened onto a large room. Clint stared with wide eyes as he took in the large glass walls showing the city beyond, the sunken sitting area with large couches and the biggest television he’d seen in his life. He could see a hallway off to one side and Bruce led him in the other direction where Clint could see a kitchen emerging from behind a dividing wall.

“Oh, Bruce, I didn’t know you were all back,” a woman said pleasantly.

Clint froze as she came into full view. Her shoulder length hair was pulled back in front but loose down the back, a familiar, comfortably strawberry-blonde. She was thin and very pretty, barefoot but in a business suit. He knew it couldn’t be but “Momma?” he whispered, taking a hesitant few steps forward.

“Clint, this is Pepper Potts,” Bruce said gently from behind him. 

“It’s nice to meet you, Clint,” she said, a smile on her beautiful face, but a sad look in her eyes. “I was just making myself a snack. Can I get you anything?”

Clint shook his head, unable to speak. Bruce gave his shoulder a squeeze as he stepped past. “Why don’t you go ahead and sit down, Clint, and I’ll see what I can find for us, hm?”

Clint nodded dumbly, his gaze fixed on Pepper as he moved toward a seat at the table nearby. He knew he shouldn’t stare, that it was rude, and that it made people uncomfortable, especially when he did it, but he couldn’t help it. She looked so much like how he remembered his mom. A glass of water appeared at his elbow. 

“Start with that,” Bruce advised gently. “Try to drink as much as you can.”

Mechanically, Clint followed directions. It wasn’t a dream. He was in this weird place, the future if Jasper was to be believed, with talking super calculators and dragons and man/robot creatures and he swore he saw someone in a cape with a big hammer and someone that looked like Captain America before (he’d had one comic when they’d first gone to the group home; it was stolen by one of the older boys) and a big green troll. He was in this new scary place with a woman who looked like his mom, and no one seemed to want to hurt him but he kind of desperately wanted to be back where, as bad as things seemed, they were familiar. At least there he knew what the rules were and what the punishments were and what to expect. 

While Bruce and Pepper’s backs were turned, Clint slipped from the chair and ducked under the table. It was too big to be an effective hiding place, but it would do. He crammed his fist in his mouth as he folded himself up, burying his face in his knees again as he tried to become as small as possible. He rocked himself slowly as he breathed through his nose, trying to remember what Katy, his social worker, had said to do when he felt this way. 

He flinched slightly when the chair nearest where he sat was moved, scraping against the floor. He peeked one eye open, but found no angry face peering down at him. Instead, bare feet, the toes painted a bright pink, rested against the floor, legs pressed together. Feeling slightly emboldened by being undercover and out of sight, he scooted just a bit closer to Pepper. 

“When will the others be back?” Pepper was asking.

“The battle was over when we left,” Bruce explained. “So, probably a couple of hours so they can debrief.”

“Was anyone hurt?” Pepper asked.

“Not when I’d left,” Bruce said, an odd note in his voice, which made Pepper laugh softly. “Depends on how much Tony irritates Natasha in the meantime.” 

“Well, that’s something, at least,” Pepper responded. 

Clint jumped back slightly, flinching when he caused one of the empty chairs to jump when a plate appeared in front of his face, bearing a pile of grapes, a _whole_ sandwich and a yogurt cup. Hesitantly, he reached up and took the plate. When nothing else happened, he unfolded slightly and balanced the plate on his knees. Taking advantage of the big pockets on the sweatshirt, he hid the yogurt and spoon inside; warm yogurt wasn’t great, but it was better than nothing.

The conversation at the table above him continued as he ate the grapes slowly, savoring the crunch and pop of flavor on his tongue. Fresh fruit wasn’t something he got very often. When the grapes were gone, he turned his attention to the sandwich. He was by far not a picky eater, but he peeked between the slices of bread out of curiosity. Meat and cheese with spread and something green and leafy and tomatoes. He picked the tomatoes off and ate them slowly before smooshing the rest of the sandwich together and taking a large bite. 

After he finished the sandwich, he quietly slid the empty plate onto the seat near Pepper and tucked himself back into the tight ball. He would have tried for one of the cabinets he could see, but with Bruce on the other side of the table, the chances of him making it inside without being noticed were slim. But they didn’t seem bothered that he was under the table, and he felt safe enough for the moment. He folded his arms back around his knees, hugging himself, and rested his cheek on his knees. 

“Clint? We’d like to talk to you,” Pepper said gently. “Do you think you could come up here, or would you be more comfortable down there?” she asked.

“I can stay here?” Clint asked in response, surprised. He was used to being dragged from his hiding spaces. 

“If you like,” she said, sounding like she was smiling. “Would you like something else to eat or drink?”

“Can I –“ he asked, hesitantly. “Can I have more water?”

“Of course,” Pepper answered.

A moment later he was handed a large plastic cup with a lid and straw. “That’s yours,” Pepper said, only her hand appearing below the table. “You can take it with you and fill it up whenever you want. If you want something else, just ask, okay?”

Clint nodded, though she couldn’t see him. Frowning, he turned the cup around in his hands, and sure enough his name was written all over the cup with purple sparkly ink, accompanied by images of arrows and targets, all in shades of purple. He traced over the letters with his finger. It had _his name_.

“Clint, can you tell us how old you are?” Pepper asked gently. 

“Eight,” he answered. He knew he was small; he was the smallest in his class, and he was a year behind, in first grade with the six- and seven-year olds. 

“And where were you before you woke up on the roof?” Bruce asked, also speaking softly and keeping his voice even.

“Mrs. Grady’s,” Clint answered. “Kenny broke a glass and spilled orange juice. I was hiding in the girls’ closet so I wouldn’t get blamed.”

“Why would you get blamed, Clint?” Pepper asked.

“’M the youngest,” Clint muttered. “I always get blamed.”

“How long have you been with Mrs. Grady?” Pepper asked.

“Me an’ Barney been there three months,” Clint answered.

“Who’s Barney?” Pepper asked, sounding curious. 

“My brother,” Clint said simply. The he sat up sharply. “Can we find him? My brother? If this is the future, then, won’t he be a grown up now?”

There was a beat of silence before Pepper answered. “We can try, Clint. Is Barney Barton his full name?”

“Charles Bernard Barton,” Clint said. “Momma said when I was little I couldn’t say Charles so I always called him Barney,” he said softly.

“And how old is Barney?”

“Twelve,” Clint answered, burying his face back in his knees.

“We’ll try to find him, Clint,” Bruce said. “Can I ask you a couple more questions?”

“Okay,” Clint said after a moment.

“What’s your favorite cartoon?” Bruce asked.

Clint didn’t lift his head, but looked up sharply. “Uhm.” He had to think about that one; he never got to pick what to watch on tv when Mrs. Grady let them watch. “I like _Strawberry Shortcake,_ ” he admitted shyly. “And _The Smurfs_.”

“Excellent choices,” Pepper said. “And if you could have whatever you wanted for dinner?”

“Pasghetti,” he answered without thought. He always got enough to eat on pasghetti night.

“Okay,” Pepper said, laughing a little. “Now, if you can come out of there for a minute, I’d like to show you a couple of things.”

Clint tensed. 

“If you don’t like what I show you, you can go right back under the table,” Pepper said. “I just think I might know a place that’s a little more comfortable.” She slipped her hand under the table. “Please?”

He considered for a moment. That he could go back under the table was promising. Slowly, he uncurled himself, and gripping his cup in his left hand, slowly extended his right hand toward Pepper’s. She didn’t tug or pull at him once he’d touched his fingers to hers, so he slowly crept out from under the table, standing once he was clear and wouldn’t bash his head.

“Thank you,” she said, smiling. She rose gracefully, still holding Clint’s hand, something flat and the size of a magazine in her other hand. “Come with me?”

Clint nodded and followed where she led. They left the kitchen and stepped down into the sunken living area. She guided him toward a corner where a couple of couches left a gap between them so the corner looked out onto the television screen. Pepper knelt and Clint moved with her, watching as she felt with the fingers of her free hand (the magazine thing laid aside) until she stopped and turned to Clint, smiling as she popped a panel loose, revealing a cubby stocked with a blanket, pillow and a couple of small boxes.

“You can stay here, if you’d like,” she said gently, dropping his hand. “This screen lets you see out, but no one can see in,” she said, waving toward the panel she’d moved aside. 

“Why’s there a blanket and pillow?” he asked quietly.

“I know someone else who likes to use this spot,” Pepper responded. “But he’s…away and won’t need it for awhile. I thought you might like to use it. No one will bother you in here, and I won’t tell anyone but Bruce that I showed you this spot, okay?”

Clint nodded. “Thank you,” he said softly, but he meant it. 

“You’re welcome, sweetheart.” She kissed his cheek quickly, fast enough he didn’t have time to pull away, but he smiled, just a bit. “In you go.”

“How do I get out?” he asked, crawling in, and turning around, laying flat on his stomach so he could see out the screen, curling the pillow under himself. 

“Just push on the panel,” Pepper said. “And here.” She handed him the magazine thing. “It’s like a mini tv. Tap here,” she said, and waited while Clint did as she said. “And you can tell JARVIS what you want to watch. He can play music, too, or find you a book, if there’s something you want to read.”

“And I can just stay here?” Clint asked, his eyes wide as he looked up at her.

She smiled sadly. “Yes, if that’s what you want.”

No one had ever _let_ him hide before. He felt tears gather in his eyes as he realized these people were trying to make him feel safe and secure, something he hadn’t had in years. “Thank you,” he said, his voice thick. He scrubbed at his eyes with the back of a hand.

“You’re welcome,” she said again, patting his other hand. “If you need anything, ask JARVIS and he can get me or Bruce, alright? But you can say here as long as you want.”

He nodded and watched as she fit the screen back in place, then rose smoothly. He let the tears slip free as she walked away. He was warm, fuller than he could remember being with food put aside for later, had a cup of water with his name on it, and somewhere secure and safe to curl up. He was in a scary new place, on his own, but he felt safer than he’d been in a long, long time.

**

Clint hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but by his count, it was almost eleven at night and he’d been up since five that morning. He woke to the sound of voices. A lot voices. Loud voices. He couldn’t pick out any single conversation since the voices overlapped each other. He wriggled back from the panel covering his hiding space just a bit more, brushing against the boxes along the wall. Curious, he reached for them. One had something that looked like granola bars. The other had fruit snacks. Clint smiled as he pulled his hidden yogurt and apple from his pocket. 

_Master Clint_ flashed on the screen of the thing Pepper had given him.

Clint frowned, but tapped the screen. 

_There is a small cooler just to your left._

With a puzzled frown, Clint turned easily in the space and found the little handle. Sure enough, a small bit of light appeared as the door opened. Inside he found a few bottles that were labelled water, a couple of small cans of something called Pepsi and cans he recognized as beer. He stuffed the yogurt and apple inside. “Thanks,” he whispered.

 _You are welcome_ scrolled across the screen and then it went blank. 

Clint wasn’t sure if he could be heard in his little cubby, so he moved as quietly as possible, wrapping up in the blanket and scooting back closer to the screen to peer out. 

There was something moving on the large television screen, but it wasn’t anything Clint recognized. He could still hear the voices talking over each other and he could smell something wonderful that made his stomach rumble. He didn’t try to get out, though; he just watched and listened. He recognized Pepper’s legs as she walked through his field of vision. The conversation rose and fell but a couple of voices always stood out. One responded to Tony and the other to Thor.

He watched until he couldn’t stand it anymore. He needed to pee. 

“JARVIS,” he whispered, after backing up a little from the screen.

 _Yes? And you don’t need to whisper; this chamber is sound proof. There are no speakers here for me to talk to you_.

“I need to use the bathroom,” he said, still quietly. 

_I shall get Ms. Potts_. The words scrolled and then the screen went dim.

“Ms. Potts, you have an urgent message waiting.” Clint heard JARVIS’ voice in the room beyond and the other voices got quieter.

“Thanks, JARVIS.” 

Clint waited. 

“Guys, can you come help me with something in the kitchen?” Bruce’s voice asked. 

“What, all of us? Come on, science-bro,” the voice that responded to Tony said. 

“Tony,” Bruce sighed. 

“Oh, alright,” Tony sighed, and it took just a minute for the noise to move into another room. It was just a moment later before Clint saw Pepper step up to the panel and tap lightly. “Clint? You can come out now, it’s just you and me.”

He scooted forward and pushed on the cover which easily came away. He slipped out and got to his feet. 

“This way,” Pepper said, and led him around the sofas and up the steps out of the sunken area to a door. “It locks inside, and I’ll wait here, okay?”

He nodded his thanks and ducked inside. The lights came up automatically and Clint looked around, awed. The bathroom was bigger than any other bathroom he’d ever seen! He did his business and washed his hands, drying them on the fluffiest softest towel he’d ever used. 

When Clint stepped out, Pepper was still waiting, leaning against the wall and playing with something she held in her hands. When she saw Clint she smiled, and moved to her knees so he wasn’t looking up at her. “Clint, I have some friends I’d like you to meet,” she said softly. “They live here, too, and they’ve been worried about you. Would you like to meet them?”

“How many people live here?” He asked, pulling his lower lip into his mouth and chewing on it, idly. 

“There’s usually seven of us, but sometimes more, sometimes fewer. It depends. Right now, there’s seven total, including you,” She explained.

“I _live_ here?” he asked, disbelieving. 

“Well, that’s another reason I want you to meet everyone else. Bruce and Tony think they know what happened and why you’re here. They’d like to explain.” She smiled again. “Will you let them meet and talk to you?”

So far, no one in this place had lied to him or treated him badly. Pepper and Bruce had given him food and someplace safe to hide. He could meet her friends. “Okay,” he said softly. 

“Okay,” she agreed with a smile and extended her hand. Clint took it without a second thought this time and let her lead him toward one of the couches. “JARVIS,” she said.

“Yes, Ms. Potts,” the voice agreed and a moment later, other people were filing into the room. 

On instinct, Clint tried to make himself as small as possible. He hunched his shoulders and stared at his feet, not even trying to make eye contact with anyone. He glanced up at Pepper as she squeezed his hand. “Will you sit up here with me?”

Clint nodded and scrambled onto the couch next to her as everyone else took a seat. He recognized Bruce and there was the man/robot guy, only now he just looked like a man. There were two huge blonde guys and a small red-headed woman. The woman stared at him for a moment, then stepped back, leaning against a wall instead of choosing a seat.

“So, it is true!” the blonde with the long hair boomed. Clint flinched back. “Apologies, young one,” he said in a softer tone. “It was not my intention to frighten you. I am Thor of Asgard.” He bowed. 

“Hi,” Clint said softly.

Thor smiled brightly and backed up, taking a seat on another couch. 

“Okay?” Pepper asked lowly.

Clint took a deep breath and nodded. He could do this. He didn’t know why, but he trusted that Pepper and Bruce would keep their word and not let him be hurt. 

She smiled at him and didn’t let go of his hand. “You remember Bruce, right?” She continued at Clint’s not. “Next to him is Tony. He owns this building.”

Clint glanced at the man she indicated, the one that had been the man/robot thing with dark hair on his head and face and bright eyes that studied him curiously. He leaned up to whisper in Pepper’s ear. “He’s not a robot?”

Pepper laughed softly. “It’s a suit he wears when he’s fighting bad guys. He’s not really a robot,” she said.

“Hey! No talking about me like I’m not here,” Tony demanded. “If you’re gonna talk about me, I wanna hear it.”

“Clint said your robot suit thingy would look better in bright purple with sparkles,” Pepper said.

Clint’s eyes went wide as Tony rolled his eyes. “This is not news,” he said with a wave of his hand.

“I didn’t say that,” he protested to Pepper in a voice just above a whisper. 

“I know,” Pepper said, winking. “It’s an old joke. Over there,” she said, gesturing to the red-head “Is Natasha, and that’s Steve,” she said, pointing to the blonde with short hair who was in jeans and a button down shirt. “Guys, this is Clint Barton, and he’s eight years old.”

“Hi,” he said softly, uncomfortable at all the eyes on him. He glanced quickly around, frowning as he watched Natasha move her hands in a pattern that seemed like it had a purpose. When he watched but didn’t respond, she simply nodded and folded her arms back across her chest.

“Wow. That is just weird,” Tony blurted.

“Tony!” Steve said, like the way one of the teachers said someone’s name when they said or did bad things. 

“Well, it is!” Tony answered. “He looks like Barton in the nose and eyes anyway, and he seems to have the same basic vocabulary.”

“Stark.” It was Natasha who had the teacher voice that time.

Tony sighed and threw up his hands. “Fine. Bruce?”

Bruce took off his glasses and rubbed at them with a handkerchief. “We’re not sure how it happened, but we think that Clint was brought here through some kind of temporal disturbance. We’re fairly sure that Barton is wherever Clint was when the disturbance happened.”

Clint scrunched his nose up as he tried to make sense of what Bruce was saying. 

“Bruce is saying that something happened to time,” Steve explained. “And you were brought here, and our Clint was swapped with you.”

“So…big me is where I should be and I’m here where he should be?” he asked, frowning. Mrs. Grady was not going to like that at all. 

“Well, big is rela-oomph. Bruce!” Tony whined at the same time Natasha said “Short jokes, Stark, really?”

Tony continued. “But yes. Basically.”

“And we all live here?” Clint asked.

“Aye, little one,” Thor responded. 

“Why?” Clint asked.

“Why what?” Steve asked.

“Why do we all live here?” Clint asked with a frown. He’d spent so much time already in his life living with so many other people that he couldn’t imagine wanting to as an adult.

“Did you look over the edge of the building where we found you today?” Bruce asked gently. When Clint nodded, he continued. “What did you see?”

“Dragons,” Clint answered, almost making it a question. “And people fighting dragons. I saw one guy with a shield like Captain America and one guy with a hammer. And…a troll?”

Tony snorted a laugh. 

Bruce rolled his eyes. “That was us,” he explained. “We’re kind of –“

“A response team,” Steve cut in. “We help fight bad guys.”

Clint stared at them like they’d all grown a second head. He was too stupid to be part of a team to fight bad guys, and everyone knew it. He didn’t read too good and his teachers thought he was hopeless even though he really liked math, and there was no way that anyone would want him for anything. He hadn’t even been able to get adopted like any of the other younger kids at the group home.

“Clint?”

He turned to Pepper. “I’m really in the future?” he asked in a small voice. “Can I go home?”

“Bruce and Tony are going to work on it,” Pepper said. “And I promise, they will do everything they can to try to get you home.”

Clint nodded, drawing his legs up to his chest and huddling into the couch. Despite the sweatshirt he still wore, he was cold, and even though he’d napped a couple of times, he was tired. He shivered and sniffled and hugged his legs to his chest.

“Tired?” Pepper asked him softly as he slowly listed to one side, coming to rest against her. She didn’t pull away, instead, lifted an arm to tuck him beside her body. 

Clint nodded. 

“It’s been a long day for you. Do you want to eat, or just go to bed?” She asked.

He had to think that through. At Mrs. Grady’s, if food was offered, he better take it because he never knew if the offer would stand later. 

“There is almost always someone awake here who can help you, and if not, JARVIS is around. Food is readily available and you only have to ask,” Bruce said, approaching slowly. He nodded toward Steve. “He eats like ten times a day, and so does Thor, so chances are, someone will always be in the kitchen,” he said patiently, like he knew what Clint was thinking. 

Clint could eat (he could always eat), but he really just wanted to sleep and hope he woke up back in the closet at Mrs. Grady’s, even if it meant he’d have to face twice the punishment. “Sleep, please,” he said softly.

Pepper gave him a one armed hug and spoke in a very quiet voice. “Do you want to sleep in a bed, or do you want the hidey hole? You can have a bed all to yourself, in your own room; or I have a guest room and so does Bruce.”

“Can I-“ he hesitated, chewing on his lip again. “Can I see big-me’s room?”

“Of course,” Pepper said gently. “Can Bruce take you? There’s something I need to do, but I’ll meet you there?”

Clint nodded and slowly unfolded himself. He slid from the couch and followed Bruce, glancing around the room. Steve was still seated on the couch, looking at a screen like the one Pepper had given him. Tony had gotten up and left his voice echoing down the hall, and so had Natasha, since Clint couldn’t see her. Thor was standing at the large window, looking out with a piece of pizza in his hand. 

They took another elevator, but it was a shorter ride, and Clint followed Bruce into the hallway, and then through another door.

He stood just inside a large room. In one corner was a messy bed, a dark purple bed spread half-on the bed, half-on the floor. There was a really old couch in front of another huge television screen. He could see a kitchen with a table beyond that. One wall was windows that had been tinted. Other than the bed, it wasn’t really messy, but it looked like someone lived there. 

Clint liked it.

“The bathroom is here,” Bruce said, flipping on a light. “That one is the closet,” he said, pointing toward another door. 

He looked around without moving. “Can I stay here tonight?” he asked softly. He already had three good hiding spots picked out.

“Sure,” Bruce said, just as Pepper stepped through the door with a couple of bags in each hand. 

“I had JARVIS order you some things,” Pepper explained as she knelt. “PJs, underthings, clothes,” she listed, digging through the bags until she came up with a pair of purple plaid pajama pants and a dark t-shirt. “Do you want one of us to stay?” she offered.

Clint shook his head. “I’ll be okay,” he said quietly, finding a small smile. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she said as she stood, smiling. “Remember, JARVIS can get any one of us if you need anything, alright?”

Clint nodded again, taking the clothes she handed him. 

“Okay. Good night,” she said. Bruce smiled.

“Good night,” Clint said. He waited until they were gone to move. He took a deep, steadying breath before he moved to the bathroom. He washed his face and with a shrug, used the toothbrush on the counter to brush his teeth. He changed quickly into the new(!) clothes and then set about exploring the room.

He found that adult-Clint hadn’t given up on rule number 3. He found hide holes already set up in the three places Clint had spied, and found one more he hadn’t thought about yet. It was a start. “JARVIS?”

“Yes, Master Clint?”

“Can you lock the door?” he asked hesitantly.

“Of course. Lock is engaged. No one will disturb you unless it’s an emergency.”

“Okay. Thank you.” He wanted to explore a little more, figure out more about adult-him, but he was tired. Rather than the bed, which looked nice but way too big, Clint crossed to the closet where a mattress was set up in a back corner. He curled up in the nest of blankets and pillows that had been built there and was asleep in minutes. 

**  
Clint woke up in the closet and for a moment thought that he was back at the Grady’s after all. But once he took in the black clothes, the boots, the tool kit, and _size_ of the closet, it came rushing back to him. It took him a few minutes to calm back down after his heart started pounding in his chest. 

When he finally found the courage to crawl from the closet, the room beyond was quiet and empty. No one had bothered him while he’d slept; no one had woken him to do chores before school. 

“JARVIS” he asked hesitantly. 

“Yes, Master Clint?”

Clint made a face. “Could y’know, just call me Clint?” he asked.

“Of course,” JARVIS responded. “What can I help you with?”

“Uhm.” He chewed his bottom lip. “I don’t know?”

“Well then. It is Thursday at 10:28 am. No one has been in your rooms since last night. There are clothes in the bags Miss Potts brought in last night. You can find juice, milk, and yogurt in the fridge. I have been requested to tell you that Steve made pancakes earlier and there were several left over; he would appreciate it if you would help him eat them.”

Clint took a deep breath. Okay. He went to the kitchen. He couldn’t reach any of the cabinets, so he shoved one of the kitchen chairs around until he found the cupboard with the glasses. He carefully pulled one down, climbed from the chair, and found the milk in the fridge. It was icy cold and thick, not the watery stuff he was used to. It was delicious and he drank the whole glass down in several long swallows. When he was finished, he used the chair again so he could rinse the glass in the sink.

On his way back to the bathroom, he found the bags Pepper had left. He dug through them and found jeans, a plain t-shirt, clean underwear, socks, and even a pair of shoes. The shoes were new. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had new shoes. 

Even though the door to the hall was locked, Clint still carefully made sure the bathroom door was locked behind him. He brushed his teeth and stripped out of his clothes then stood, staring at the shower. “JARVIS?” he asked hopefully.

“Yes, Clint?”

“I don’t know how this works?” There were more dials and knobs than he thought were possible in a shower. 

“The knob in the center is the main control,” JARVIS explained.

“Okay,” he responded and stepped in. He got the water hot and let it pour over him. It didn’t run out for as long as he stood there. He found soap and shampoo, though he thought they smelled kind of funny. When he finally dragged himself from the shower stall, the bathroom was filled with steam. He used another huge fluffy towel to dry himself off, and got dressed in the clothes he’d picked out. 

“JARVIS, how do I get back to the kitchen?” he asked once he was ready to leave the room.

“Just outside the main door, you will find an elevator. You are on the 75th floor. The common areas are on the 73rd,” JARVIS responded. “Miss Potts asked to be notified when you were awake. She is at work this morning, but if you need to reach her, she’s available.”

Clint nodded. “Okay.” He made his way into the elevator. He couldn’t reach the buttons. “JARVIS.”

“Going down,” JARVIS responded. A moment later the doors popped back open and Clint stepped hesitantly out. “The kitchen is down the hall to your right.”

Clint nodded again and started walking. It was quiet, and when he reached the kitchen, he froze. The only person there was Steve, who was sitting at the table with the paper. 

“Good morning, Clint. Are you hungry?” Steve said, looking over his shoulder with a smile.

Clint tried to smile back, but the other man scared him a bit. He was _huge_! “Good morning,” he answered quietly. “JARVIS said there was pancakes?” he managed to say without stuttering. He could feel his heart beating faster and he took another deep breath. 

“Yeah, I made too many,” Steve said. “How do you like them?”

“Plain, with butter,” Clint said softly as Steve rose and moved to the counter. 

“Have a seat, it’ll just be a minute,” he said. “Do you want milk or something else to drink?”

“Can I-“ he stopped, biting his lip. “Can I have orange juice?” he asked, hopeful. He loved orange juice, but Mrs. Grady didn’t let them have it often because she said it was expensive. At the group home, they had powdered juice that wasn’t nearly as good.

“Sure,” Steve said casually, like it wasn’t a big deal. He poured two glasses of juice, one much bigger than the other, and brought them to the table, followed by two plates of pancakes. “Going to join me?” he asked lightly. “C’mon, there’s plenty,” he said, holding a chair out for Clint. 

Clint hesitated only a minute, then climbed into the chair that Steve offered. He watched, shocked, as Steve drowned his huge stack of pancakes in syrup and then practically attacked it with his fork. “Eat,” he said, poking at Clint gently in the ribs, smiling.

Clint shifted away from the touch, but tried to return the grin as he took in the three fluffy pancakes in front of him. He watched Steve from the corner of his eye as he ignored the silverware and reached out, rolling up one of the pancakes and bringing it to his mouth with his hands. He munched on it and Steve didn’t say anything. He ate one and a half of the pancakes that way before he couldn’t eat any more.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered as Steve took his plate. 

“Why?” Steve asked gently, turning back to him. 

“I couldn’t finish and it was a waste of food,” Clint admitted quietly.

Steve put the plates back on the table and squatted down. “It’s not a waste,” he said softly, meeting Clint’s eyes. “Someone will eat them. I would rather you stopped when you were full than made yourself sick,” he said. “And if you’re ready for more food in an hour, like I will be, just say something, and you can work on them again, okay?”

Clint stared at him. “You’re not mad?”

“Of course not,” Steve answered patiently. He reached up and Clint froze as one of the giant hands came at him. It wouldn’t be the first time that an adult had said one thing and proven their true thoughts through their actions. But Steve didn’t hit him. Instead, his hand gently ruffled the hair at the top of Clint’s head. Steve smiled at him and rose, collecting the plates once more.

While his back was turned, Clint fled back to the hidey hole in the common room Pepper had shown him the night before. He could breathe a little easier with the panel back in place. He curled back up into a ball and pressed his back against the wall. 

He just didn’t _understand_ this place.

“JARVIS?” he heard Steve ask from the common room.

“Yes, Captain Rogers?”

“Where’s Clint?” Steve asked.

Clint froze, holding his breath. 

“Clint is safe, Captain,” the voice responded.

“He’s in one of his hidey holes, isn’t he?” Steve asked, sounding amused?

“Indeed.”

“Okay. Please let him know I’m going down to the gym, but he can get me or any of the others through you,” Steve said.

“Of course.”

Steve left and Clint sat staring out the panel with his eyes wide. They knew he was hiding and didn’t try to drag him out? They were going to leave him alone? He had expected JARVIS to tell everyone where he was if they asked. He wasn’t used to anyone keeping his secrets. But it helped maybe that they knew that Clint had hidey holes in their home; they didn’t have to know where they were so long as they knew he was okay. 

Maybe big-him wasn’t as crazy for living with other people as Clint thought. 

Clint spent most of the day in the cubby. It was comfortable and he had everything he needed. He crept out a couple of times to fill his cup with water (even iced water, once JARVIS pointed him in the right direction) or use the bathroom. He saw Natasha pass through once, and heard her ask JARVIS where he was. Steve and Thor passed a message through JARVIS that they were making lunch and invited Clint to join them. It took him several minutes to build his courage, but eventually he did join them for grilled cheese and tomato soup. 

He found games on the screen that afternoon and occupied himself with those, falling asleep in the middle of some game where he shot birds at piggies. 

Clint woke sometime later to a conversation someone was having with JARVIS. It took him a minute to recognize the other voice as Bruce’s. 

“Apple juice?” Bruce was saying.

“Of course, Doctor Banner.”

“Thanks. And if you see Clint, please let him know I’m making a snack and he’s welcome to join me.”

“Of course, Doctor Banner.”

Clint waited until the common room grew quiet once again. This time when he crept out of the cubby, he took his cup with him. He glanced constantly around, feeling slightly more secure but also wary of the new people around as he made his way to the kitchen.

“Ah, I thought’s that where you might have been hiding,” Bruce said, glancing over his shoulder as Clint came into the kitchen. “Snack? I’m having graham crackers with cheese and some apple juice.”

Clint nodded, sliding into one of the chairs. “Thanks.”

“Oh, hey, Tony got you something,” he said, waving toward the end of the table as he turned back to the counter. 

Clint followed his wave with his eyes and spotted a brown paper bag at the end of the table. He slid from his chair and approached it cautiously. It seemed innocent enough, but he’d been tricked too many times by kids and adults alike in the last two years. He reached out for it slowly, brushing his fingers against the paper bag. It rustled but nothing leapt out at him. He tugged it forward gently, and peered into it.

Inside were a couple of coloring books and the largest box of crayons Clint had ever seen. He gaped at the box, pulling it from the bag and tracing his fingers over the 120 stamped on the yellow box. “Wow,” he breathed.

“Neat, huh?” Bruce asked, setting a plate down next to him and taking one for himself, sitting on Clint’s left.

“I didn’t know they made so many colors,” Clint said quietly. He glanced up at Bruce. “I can color?”

“Sure,” Bruce said. “Can I color with you?”

Clint looked at him from the corner of his eye as he sorted through the coloring books, pulling out the Winnie the Pooh one. He at least recognized those characters. “Adults don’t color,” he muttered, but put the box of crayons between them and slid the remaining books his way.

“Really? I know a lot of adults that color,” Bruce said, selecting a book. “I find it relaxing. Steve’s an artist, you know. I think he’d like to color, too.”

Clint felt his heart beat speed up a bit. 

“But we don’t have to invite him this time,” Bruce continued. 

Clint nodded, taking a deep breath. He nibbled at a cracker (he’d never had the combination of graham cracker and cheddar cheese before; it was good) while he colored, Bruce a quiet presence at his side. It was comfortable.

**

His days continued in a similar pattern and he slowly got more comfortable with the others living there. He still slept in the closet because he felt too exposed in the big bed. But as he got used to the others, he spent less time hiding. Though sometimes, when Thor got really excited and loud, Clint would sneak away, but he’d gotten better about being around everyone once he realized that he could actually trust them. 

Natasha wasn’t around much and he rarely saw Tony or Bruce. He found out why nearly a week after he’d gotten there; they had been spending nearly all of their time trying to figure out how Clint had gotten there and how to get him home.

Clint was laying on the floor with Thor playing Candyland when Tony and Bruce came in, talking over each other in their excitement. 

“Hey, squirt,” Tony said, stepping over him to flop into one of the sofas. “So, we figured out how you got here,” he said.

“Can I go home?” he asked, with a mix of excitement and dread. He’d grown comfortable to being in a place where no one was going to beat on him and he had enough to eat. He didn’t really want to go back to the Grady’s, but having this glimpse of what his life could be like, he was willing to face it.

“We think so,” Bruce explained, taking the couch across from Tony. “We’re working on an experiment right now, and we’ll know by the end of the day.”

“So we can probably send you back tomorrow and get you out of our hair,” Tony said dramatically. “I swear, you eat more than Thor and Steve combined.”

Clint smiled. He’d gotten used to Tony’s loud and usually teasing way of speaking. “Really? Tomorrow?”

“With any luck,” Bruce said. “There are a few things you should probably know, though,” he said, his voice softening a little.

“What?” Clint asked, immediately suspicious.

“It’s nothing bad. Well, maybe. Kind of. Depending on your definition of bad,” Tony babbled.

Bruce sighed. “When we send you back, it’s going to be at the same moment you were brought here,” he explained.

“So I won’t remember any of this,” Clint finished slowly.

“Yeah, I don’t get why people think you’re not smart,” Tony said, waving his hand around. “Not consciously, though you may have weird dreams,” he answered.

Clint nodded. He knew he didn’t really have a choice. Even if he wanted to stay, big-Clint didn’t deserve to be stuck in the past. The others had been pretty careful not to reveal much of big-Clint’s past, which was at least a bit of a relief. “Tomorrow?” he repeated, pulling himself up so he was sat on the floor instead of laying down.

“Tomorrow,” Bruce confirmed.

“Okay,” Clint said with another nod. “Can we-“ he bit his lower lip. “Can we make pasghetti?” he asked.

Thor sat up. “Spaghetti sounds like a wonderful idea,” he declared.

“JARVIS?” Tony asked.

“I am letting Miss Potts know and Captain Rogers is on his way up after he takes a quick shower,” the voice responded.

“Well, we can get started without them,” Bruce said, standing. “Have you ever made spaghetti sauce from scratch?”

Thor rose also, scooping Clint off the floor making him laugh. “No,” Clint answered through his laughter. 

They spent the afternoon in the kitchen rolling and baking meatballs and simmering large pots of pasta sauce. Steve and Bruce were in charge with the others following orders. Clint mostly sat on the counter and passed ingredients as requested. Pepper came in later, changed out of her suit into loose pants and a t-shirt, her feet bare again. She hopped up on the counter next to Clint and helped him pass things down and throw things at Tony. He helped spread the butter on the garlic bread and tore lettuce into pieces for salad.

He wondered if this was what having a family was really like. He couldn’t remember times like this before his parents died, and none of the fosters had ever welcomed him the way these adults had. He would miss them.

Well, he would, if he was able to remember them.

Dinner was loud, but Clint had gotten used to that in the last week. Natasha had shown up at some point, but she mostly hung back, and Clint had never felt brave enough to actually talk to her. He ate too much and was teased by the others and he even cautiously teased back, leading to more laughter. 

After dinner, Tony and Bruce disappeared again to go check on their experiment while everyone else cleaned up from dinner. 

“You okay?” Pepper asked, bumping her hip against him as they dried dishes.

Clint nodded. “I know I have to go home,” he said quietly. “But I kind of want to stay.” He bit his lip again before continuing. “It feels like home.”

Pepper smiled. “I’m glad we’ve been able to give you that, even for a little bit.”

Clint threw himself at her, wrapping his arms around her waist. “I’m gonna miss you,” he whispered.

She ran her fingers through his hair. “I’m gonna miss you, too,” she said. “Come on,” she said after a moment. “Let’s go set up a movie, okay?” 

When Clint pulled back and looked up, her eyes looked bright and her smile was watery, and he nodded, trying to smile. 

Clint curled up next to Pepper on the sofa, tucking his feet up underneath him. “JARVIS, let Tony know we’re going to run a Pixar marathon tonight if he can drag himself away from the lab.”

“Yes, Miss Potts,” JARVIS responded. “Which film would you like to start with?”

She glanced at Clint and grinned. “ _Monster’s, INC_ ,” she said. 

“Very good.”

Steve and Thor joined them a couple minutes later, having finished the dishes, and even Natasha had appeared by the time the movie started. 

Clint watched the movie, fascinated by the animation. It wasn’t like anything he was used to. He barely noticed Tony and Bruce coming in about halfway through he was so engrossed. They followed that one with a movie about a fish, and then one about a family of super heroes. Clint dozed off a few minutes into the one with the talking cars.

He woke to the feeling of being carried. “Momma?” he asked drowsily.

“Sorry squirt, just me,” Tony responded in a quiet voice. 

“’Sokay,” Clint murmured. “Forgot.”

Tony hummed as the doors to Clint’s room slid open. He carried Clint through to the bed, but Clint shook his head. “Not the bed?”

Clint nodded. “Closet.”

“You are totally Barton,” Tony muttered as he carried Clint into the closet and gently laid him on the mattress. “’Night, kid.”

“Night, Tony. Thanks,” he said, sleepily. He felt gentle fingers in his hair and then he was asleep.

**

The mood in the common area was quiet the next morning. Clint had dressed in his original clothes when he’d woken up and made his way down to the kitchen where everyone was gathered around the table with cups of coffee. 

“Hey, kiddo,” Tony greeted him. “Juice?”

Clint nodded as he took a chair between Pepper and Bruce. Tony handed him a glass of orange juice which he sipped from and then played with, rolling it between his hands. It was almost like everyone was sad that he was going. He couldn’t understand that; they’d be getting _their_ Clint back. Wasn’t that better?

“When are you sending me back?” he asked into the quiet room.

“Whenever you’re ready,” Bruce said gently.

Clint took a deep breath. “Now?” It might be easier to just do it.

“If you want,” Tony agreed.

“I-“ Clint paused, pulling his lower lip between his teeth. “I don’t really want to,” he admitted quietly. “But I don’t want you to be sad all day because of me, either. So maybe if you get your Clint back sooner, it won’t be as bad,” he said, tracing a finger over the beads of moisture on his juice glass.

“That’s – really mature, Clint,” Steve said, and Clint looked up to see him smiling. 

Clint tried to return the smile, but he couldn’t make it come, so he just nodded.

“Okay. If we’re gonna do this, we need to go down to the lab,” Tony said. “I’ll go get everything set up. Bruce?”

Bruce nodded and followed Tony out. Thor and Steve followed a minute later. Pepper remained at the table and Natasha approached, taking the chair Bruce had vacated.

“I’m sorry that I haven’t gotten to know you this week,” she said softly, her voice low and sounding like music. “Older-you is my best friend, and I know a little about where you are in your life right now, and…I just didn’t know how to put those two things together.” She took one of his hands in hers. “So I’m sorry. But I’m proud of you, too.” She leaned forward and kissed each cheek before rising and striding out.

Clint watched until she’d turned the corner out of his sight and then turned to Pepper. “Will you come down to the lab with me?” he asked.

“Of course,” she answered, taking his hand and leading him toward the elevator. 

Clint felt like he’d already said his goodbye to her the night before, but he was glad to have her walk with him down the hallway to where everyone else but Natasha was waiting. He gave Pepper another hug before he stepped into the lab.

“Alright, kiddo, over there on that X on the floor,” Tony said, pointing. “Sit like you would if you were in the closet.”

Clint nodded and sat on the X, pulling his knees to his chest and wrapping his arms around them. “Thank you,” he said, laying his cheek on his knees. 

“What for, squirt?” Tony asked, standing behind a machine. 

“For giving big-me a family,” Clint decided after a moment, unsure how to answer the question.

“It is our honor, young one,” Thor responded, bowing slightly.

“Close your eyes,” Bruce advised. “And count to one hundred.”

Clint nodded and did as he was told.

He hit forty seven when a chill ran through him and he shuddered. Clint was curled up as tightly as could be in the girls’ closet; they were at practice or lessons or something and wouldn’t be home for hours, and no one would think to look for him there. As the yelling downstairs got louder (though muffled; his hearing had been bad since his father had struck him so hard he’d hit his head against the floor and blacked out), Clint curled up tighter, drawing his knees to his chest and trying to make himself look as small as possible hiding behind the hanging clothes. 

If he could make it to one hundred, he’d be okay.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> find me on tumblr: knitwritezombie.tumblr.com


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